


Say His Name

by incapricious



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Coming Out, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-02
Updated: 2011-07-02
Packaged: 2017-10-20 23:18:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incapricious/pseuds/incapricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sarah (finally) have sex, and even though Sherlock's not there, he's still clearly on John's mind.</p><p>(Note: this is NOT a shippy Sarah/John fic, it is more of a pre-relationship John/Sherlock where John is dating Sarah.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say His Name

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on sherlockbbc-fic.

"Look, John, I really like you -- you're kind, smart, funny--"

John grins. "Oh, this can't be good."

"Well, it's not bad," Sarah says. "I just think maybe we ought to face facts."

"And what facts would those be?"

She can't believe he's even asking. "It's just... clearly this isn't working. Maybe you're not attracted to me, or--"

"What? Sarah, no... you're beautiful. Why wouldn't I be attracted to you?"

 _And yet you didn't say you were_ , thinks Sarah, but instead she says, "It's all right if you're not. I won't be offended. I'm a big girl."

John shakes his head, bemused.

"Right. So why is it that after three proper dates we haven't even kissed?" Sarah asks. (Normally she has no qualms about making the first move, but there's something about John that holds her back.)

"I thought -- I... I didn't want to put any pressure on you," says John. Before Sarah can stop herself, she bursts into laughter. John's face flushes.

"I'm sorry," she says, "I just wasn't expecting that."

"We work together," he says, sounding a little irritated. "I thought it would be better if we didn't get physically involved until we were fairly certain it would work out, to avoid... awkward situations, I suppose. Which apparently hasn't worked."

"Oh! I see." Sarah considers this for a moment. "That's very sweet of you. But... we are friends, aren't we?"

"Yes, of course."

"And we're both mature adults."

"More or less," John says, grinning adorably.

"Right. So, I'd say we were all clear to try it out, with the understanding that we can always go back to being friends. What do you think?"

John's grin gets a little smaller, and Sarah braces herself for rejection. It wouldn't be unexpected. She had to ask, though, even though she knows--

"Does that mean I can kiss you now?"

Sarah smiles and leans in towards him.

\--

Ten minutes later they are nearly horizontal on Sarah's sofa, and Sarah feels pleasantly buzzed on the happy chemicals the brain releases during this sort of slow, languorous kissing. The weight of John pressing down on her feels lovely, and his hands are gentle.

But truth be told, Sarah's never been fond of gentle when it comes to sex. She likes things bold and passionate and slightly out of control. She likes her partners to shout things that make them blush afterward when they remember them.

"Everything all right?" John asks, pulling back to look at her, a hint of concern on his face.

"Yes, fine," Sarah answers quickly.

"Not quite the adjective I was hoping for."

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I only meant that nothing was wrong. This is very nice, I'm enjoying it."

"Me too," he says, sliding a hand along her side to cup at the underside of her breast through her clothes. She hums and kisses his cheek, liking the feel of the scratchy stubble against her lips.

John has just started to unbutton her shirt when his pocket begins to vibrate. "I think you've got a call," Sarah says.

He shakes his head. "It's probably just Sherlock."

"About a case, do you think?" Sarah asks, moving John's hand down to the next button. His fingers push it through the hole in spite of the fact that he doesn't seem to be paying any attention to his immediate surroundings anymore, her included.

"Why is he _calling_ me? He never calls if he can text."

Sarah moves John's hand down yet again, but this time it merely rests there, pressing against her sternum. "Could be a wrong number," she suggests.

"One time," John says, his hand finally returning to opening Sarah's shirt, "he texted to tell me the twist ending to a film."

Sarah slides her hand a little lower on John's back. She can feel John's erection pressing into her thigh, suddenly harder than it was before.

"And I was sitting next to him! Watching the same film!" The last button comes undone, and Sarah swiftly reaches in to undo her bra.

"Oh, hello," John says to her breasts, bending his head down to tongue at one of her nipples.

Sarah gasps and threads her hands through his hair. His hips buck against her -- it's a small, shallow movement, but it's enough to send a thrill through her.

"John, I--" she says, but stops when his phone begins to vibrate again. "You know," she says slyly, "if you relocated that, we could put Sherlock's calls to good use."

John shakes his head, sits up, and pulls his phone out of his pocket. "I should turn it off." He looks at the screen. "Twelve texts. Let's see. _Do you have any allergies?_ And then two minutes later: _Disregard last message. Acquired medical records._ And..." John frowns and reads the rest in silence. Then he presses a button on the phone and holds it up to his ear. Sarah can't quite tell if he's irritated or worried.

"Please tell me you're joking," he says into the phone. He shakes his head. "No, I don't-- no, Sherlock. ... Because I'll have to take care of it, that's why. ... You know, food, water -- wait no, you wouldn't know. See, most animals, humans included, need those things." John presses his lips together. "No. And why exactly did you name it--" John is silent for several moments. "Oh. Well. ... What? Did you?" John lowers the phone and presses a few keys, pauses, then brings it back to his ear. "He's very nice looking, yes, but--"

Sarah starts to giggle and John grins at her, other hand trailing along the side of her thigh.

"No, I'm at Sarah's. ... Actually yes, you did. ... No. Sherlock, I'm hanging up now." He puts down the phone and says, "He is the most infuriating person on the entire planet. Do you know what he did? He adopted a cat."

"Oh. That's... nice?" Sarah says, sliding her legs further apart as John lowers himself back on top of her.

"He can't even take care of himself. How does he expect to be able to keep a cat alive?" John squeezes her breast and then rakes his hand down towards the top of her trousers. "Fuck, you're gorgeous," he breathes, rutting against her. Sarah wraps her arms around him and cants her hips, pulling him flush against her.

The change in John's demeanour is remarkable, and Sarah has a suspicion she knows what triggered it. "No wonder you sounded so frustrated on the phone just now," she whispers into John's ear.

"He's the most ridiculous person to have as a flatmate," John says, his voice low and growly. "He wakes me up in the middle of the night to get my opinion on photos of ghastly wounds. He never does the shopping or the washing up. He never eats. He never sleeps. He-- God, I really want to fuck you."

Sarah moans a little at the roughness of his voice. "I'm up for that."

John sits up and undoes Sarah's trousers, pulling them off her roughly. Her breathing is coming out faster now, and she can feel her body responding to John's urgency. He stands and quickly removes the rest of his clothing, and then stares down at himself for a moment. "Er, do you have condoms? Please say you do."

"Top drawer next to the toilet," Sarah says with a laugh.

While John is gone, Sarah ponders the situation. If she's right, then she and John will never be more than friends. But does that matter? This could be fun, tonight. Maybe John needs it.

And anyway, she would quite like to have sex. Preferably right now. It's been a while, and there are some needs her vibrator can't attend to.

\--

Something is wrong. Well, not wrong, but not quite right. John feels good inside of her, but the spark is missing, the urgency she felt before. "So," Sarah says, "what did Sherlock name the cat?"

Moments after the words leave her lips, she feels John's cock grow stiffer. He makes a little moaning noise and thrusts harder. "I don't want to think about my flatmate right now," he says, but he clearly does, because he's beginning to pull on Sarah's hair so hard that it hurts.

Oh, yes.

"It's okay," Sarah tells him, digging her nails into his back. "It's healthy to vent. Let it out, John."

"He said... I wasn't around... as often anymore," pants John, really picking up the pace. That's more like it. "He said he got the cat... to have... someone to talk to. Oh fuck, yes. As if he doesn't... ignore me... half the time I'm... oh God... home, and then... insult me the other half. Jesus Christ, you feel so good."

Blood is pounding in Sarah's ears, and she can feel the muscles in her body tensing, ready to release in a rush, waiting to tip over that edge that is so close, so close--

"He's so... yes... frustrating," John shouts, his skin slapping hard against Sarah's, and that does it. She digs her fingers in harder, not caring if she leaves scratches or bruises, and comes, her toes curling.

"Oh, God, you just... fuck. Sherlock!" he says, thrusting erratically into her a few times. He looks shocked as he comes: his eyes wide and mouth open.

Sarah stays very still, running her fingers through John's hair. A moment later he sits up and pulls out. He gets up without a word, holding the condom in his hand.

After going to her bedroom to put on her dressing gown, Sarah finds John standing in front of the bathroom vanity, leaning heavily on the basin.

"I said Sherlock's name."

"You did," agrees Sarah.

"While I was... with you. When I..."

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

Sarah shrugs. "It didn't bother me."

"Me saying someone else's name while we were having sex didn't bother you?"

"No, you saying Sherlock's name."

John looks confused and miserable. Sarah waits, giving him time to think.

"I enjoyed having sex with you," he says finally. "You're sexy and confident and easy-going..."

"But?"

John shakes his head. "There is no but."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." He looks at her in the mirror. "No. I have no idea."

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Sarah asks, because it's the only thing she can think of doing. "We could... talk?"

"I think I'm in love with Sherlock," John answers.

Sarah's heart clenches a little, not for herself but for John. She suspected John was attracted to Sherlock, but this -- this is more than she expected. Poor, sweet John. She smiles at him and makes her voice light. "Oh, well, that sounds like it calls for something stronger. We could do... hot cocoa with a generous splash of rum? Topped with whipped cream, perhaps?"

John turns on the tap and splashes his face with water. He takes a few deep breaths and then stands up, wiping his face with a towel. "Only if it's got a cherry on top as well," he says, starting to smile.

"No cherries, but I have got rainbow sprinkles, I think, leftover from when I made cupcakes for-- oh!" Sarah says when she sees John's face fall. "I didn't mean it like... they were for a seven year-old, not..."

"Not in case someone you're shagging turns out to be gay?"

Oh. "You... you think you're gay, then?"

"I don't know. Is there any other explanation?"

"Bisexuality is a thing, John, it's not as if being attracted to a man negates any attraction you have for women." And vice versa, Sarah thinks, having had that struggle herself in her early twenties.

John stands up straighter, but doesn't turn around. Sarah wonders if he can only say these things when he's talking to her reflection, as though the Sarah in the glass isn't really the same Sarah he'll see at the surgery, in the real world. "You're right. I just... I can't see anyone but him, at least not in that way, so I'm starting to think maybe... I don't know. I've never felt like this about anyone. ... I sound completely mental. I'm sorry, I shouldn't even be telling you this, not after we... you know."

"I did say we could go back to being friends, remember. I meant it."

"That's... thank you. I don't deserve that, but thank you."

Sarah thinks it's about time to drag John to the kitchen -- he looks miserable -- but then he takes a deep breath and says, "It happened the day I met him. It was like being hit by a lorry, the first time I saw him. But I ignored it, pretended it was nothing, assumed it would go away."

"It didn't."

"No, it didn't," he says. "It only got worse. What should I do? I can't go on like this."

"Well," Sarah says, wanting not to say the wrong thing. "I think it's good that you've told me. And yourself. But, maybe that's enough for one night? So now, you should come into the kitchen with me and we'll drink spiked hot cocoa and not think about your flatmate. Unless you want to. The rest can come later."

John laughs weakly, but he looks better -- less stricken, slightly more relaxed. Slightly. "Thanks, Sarah."

"What are friends for?" she says. "I mean, other than sex that triggers major personal revelations, apparently." John winces, and Sarah hurriedly adds, "Which is fine, by the way. Better to know than not know."

"That's true."

As they walk towards the kitchen, she has a thought. "So, what did he name the cat?"

"Oh," John says, looking embarrassed and pleased at the same time. "Doctor Watson."


End file.
